


Anam Cara

by YaminoTenshi202



Series: Grá mo chroí [7]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Donald Duck, BDSM, Breathplay, Consent, Incest, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Pansexual Character, Pansexual Scrooge McDuck, Sex Positive, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoTenshi202/pseuds/YaminoTenshi202
Summary: Not even Goldie, with all of her adventurous habits and body that had lured him in like gold itself, could not set his mind on fire like his gràdh m'anama could.-“Would starting a fire in the sitting room be acceptable, Donald?”“... I’ll let you know if I get uncomfortable.”“Of course, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”Donald smiled and followed Scrooge.“We have some time to wait before we can light a fire anyway.”“Yes, dear nephew.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... I have fallen in love with Ducks all over again. I was born in 1994 and my brother (born 1985) would always play Ducktales when it was on TV. Disney Afternoon was life. Flash-forward to March 2019: I have seen all of Ducktales (2017), many of the Donald Duck shorts (I think I'm missing... 12?), read the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck and several other Don Rosa works, and I'm scavenging for all of Duck media.
> 
> Here is my contribution to the fandom.
> 
> Sorry.

Donald moaned softly as the ropes were tied around his ankles. He closed his beak again, breathing in harshly. The fibers of the ropes were gently rubbing at his feathers, tickling his skin. When he tensed his legs, the ropes were just a tad tighter, enough that he could feel the knots strongly against him. He felt the familiar knots there, remembering learning these same knots when he was young.

Overhand, square, slip… So many were crisscrossing around his body, like lace. It was almost suffocating, the amount of rope. There was a series of loops that covered his neck. When Donald leaned back, the ropes were not as tight as they could be, but they held the threat of asphyxiation. The ropes licked at his feathers, sometimes catching on them and tugging on them. Donald had yet to lose a feather, but the risk was present and would grow the longer his head was flung back.

“ _ Mo anam cara _ …” Donald heard whispered against his ear, breath tickling the feathers there. A firm hand gripped the ropes that crossed in front of his chest, pulling him up and pulling his head forward. His head then was lifted, his forehead against someone else’s, his lover that knew how to cradle him better than anyone in his life, who knew how fragile he could really be.

He hadn’t felt so safe in years. His lover had been separated from him for years, but they were still dancing on the bed like they had only separated yesterday. Ropes were their words, and every movement was fluid. Donald was floating.

_ “Grá mo chroí,  _ are you all right?”

Donald opened his eyes. Blue eyes looked back at his, bright with love and concern. He smiled up at his love. He was drunk on that attention, the one person in his life that had looked at him that way such that he felt his heart skip every time. He woke up from his spell just for a moment, enough to answer his lover, to assure them.

“I’m fine…  _ gràdh m 'anama _ ,” he muttered back. A beak nuzzled against his cheeks and what part of his neck could be reached around the rope collar that he had, reassured. Donald settled back into his wakeful slumber, ready to feel hands over him again. He was not disappointed.

A warmth began to spread in Donald’s lower belly, one that was rare to him. It wasn’t unwelcome but it was something that still surprised him when it appeared. He whimpered, unsure if he wanted to chase after the painful warmth or if he wanted to put it off.

“What’s wrong?”

“... Warm.”

“All right, then,” Donald was soothed with, “None of that warmth, then, my sweet.”

His lover pressed kisses to his chest, whatever was exposed and not covered with rope, humming softly to him. Donald was hushed by the parody of a lullaby, one that frequented his dreams regularly. Soon, the warmth faded and he said as much to his beloved caretaker.

His body was soon cradled, in a way that Donald knew meant that their fun was just about over. How much time had passed?

“Such a good boy,  _ anam cara _ , love of my heart.” The breath against his feathers was heavy and deep, like his lover had exerted himself. It must have been a long time since they began their game. His possessive lover that was so kind, who could make him feel safe but never pressured him to go beyond his limits to the point of self-destruction; the ropes were loosening slowly, ribbons off of a gift.

“How…” Donald gasped, realizing that his throat was so dry.

“How long?”

“Yeah…”

“We've been here for about forty-five minutes, lovely,” his  _ anam cara _ cooed, “and it seems that we've just made it in time to get ready to go to dinner.”

Donald drank from the water bottle that was held up to his beak. He took small sips as he had been trained to do. As he closed his eyes, slowly drinking, he remembered how his love had trained him so we'll. His love was still the only one to calm him, outside of his nephews who only had to look at him so sincerely that he would calm.

“What are we having?”

“Your favorite, darlin’,” he was told, kisses pressed to every spot where the rope began to uncover him. Kisses ran along him in lines, in a collar around his throat, and the warmth that, at times would frighten him, settled in his chest. He was in love. The sweet touch and caring caresses reminded him of this every day.

A cool washcloth came over him, cleaning his feathers. Donald loved to be preened, and he chuckled happily as his love’s beak went through his feathers, fixing any that were out of place. After all, his  _ gràdh m 'anama _ loved to show him off, having everyone stare at Donald’s position and appearance.

Soon, his lover had helped him dress and got him back to wakefulness.

“I’ll go to my room,  _ grá mo chroí _ , so you can rest without me. I have a meeting here shortly.” Donald kissed his love sweetly, humming as his cheek was caressed.

“Don’t take long.”

“Well, it’s a juncture with a partner in Germany-”

“Please,” Donald sighed. “The boys and Webby love how we’re spending dinner all together.”

Blue eyes looked at him, trying to find a way out of this dinner. Donald held the gaze, trying to hold on to his decision. A nod was eventually given to him, Donald smiling and kissing his lover’s cheek, stroking the older duck’s neck. He handed his lover his coat, eyeing the pendants around his neck. One pendant, one that was a tale of age, was shining on his lovely’s chest. Another, from his daughter.

The third, Donald had given to him the day that they had declared themselves to one another. Donald had a matching one. For twenty-five years, they’d been declared to one another, at least in Donald’s heart. Nothing could ruin the years before their separation nor the days after.

“All right, Donald. I’ll try and keep it short.” The door was opened, four children running by as Donald waved his love off.

“Boys! Webby!” Donald laid on his bed, watching his _ anam cara _ take care of the kids. The children turned to his lover, Huey taking a moment to wave to Donald who was now settled under his covers.

“Sorry, Uncle Scrooge!” the ducklings chimed.

“Your uncle Donald will be taking a short rest. I’ll be taking a phone call. Would you be able-”

The door closed, and Donald could finally relax. His body exhausted and mind at ease, he went to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Scrooge watched as the boys and Webby sat down for dinner. Bentina was getting the last serving of food for the one that would be sitting down at Scrooge’s right. Her eyes looked down at him with an intent to examine, but a glare from him quickly dismissed her. 

He answered one of Webby’s questions, something about El Dorado and his adventure there. He had ventured there with Della and -

“Uncle Donald! Look, your favorite!” 

Donald greeted his nephews, Webby, Mrs. Beakley, and sat down at Scrooge’s right. A cup of tea was to Scrooge’s right and rather close to Donald’s hand. He reached for his cup, fingers brushing over Donald’s knuckles for shorter than a second.

Donald’s face was calm and lulled into a pleasure that Scrooge rarely let anyone see, but it was necessary after the discussion that he had had. One of the mistresses of a German colleague had convinced her paramour that a deal with Scrooge McDuck had not been worth the risk of selling his company’s majority shares to the Scottish trillionaire. It took too much sweet-talking to flirt with the German broker, his ego needing so much praise just to sway him from his lover’s words into Scrooge’s palm.

Donald’s face, pleased, if only for a second, was an achievement. It was something that Scrooge could do without trying to go too far outside his own comfort. Donald was happy with who Scrooge was. Scrooge, in spite of his teasing, loved Donald as the way he was and only wanted him to improve, had loved his dear  _ anam cara _ for twenty years.

A cup of nutmeg tea graced his lips, the soothing heat burning the taste of home into his mouth and settling into his stomach. It was familiar and welcoming, just as the face that Donald held during pleasing touch.

“There we are.” Mrs. Beakley sat down at the table next to Webby, and soon they all began to eat. The children were talking about their schoolwork and Webby’s adventures in the house during her homeschooling. Mrs. Beakley also lectured them over their manners at the table but ended up laughing at their antics.

“Uncle Donald, we were talking about all of these different countries and their kinds of government today in history class! When you were in the navy, did you see government officials?”

“Ooh! Did you ever get to meet someone?”

“Were you invited to galas and parties?”

Donald smiled and began to talk about his own exploits. They were the only years that Scrooge had not seen his nephew - they had been the hardest in his life.

Donald had regaled Scrooge of these stories, and he was adding more embellishment for the children, certainly. He remembered Della coming to him during those years, wondering about the letters and pictures that her brother would send. He remembered the call from the personnel in Port Edgar Royal Navy Hospital. His nephew had come back whole, if only injured just, and Donald had held Scrooge like the only blessing that he had left for life and love.

In the private room that Scrooge had arranged for, with only Della to harass her brother during his recovery and her being out for the day, Donald had caressed him sweetly. Scrooge had held his hand, waiting for the first step that his nephew would take.

Never had any kiss been as frightened or newborn as theirs had been.

“Were you ever in the military, Uncle Scrooge?” Huey asked.

“No, lad,” Scrooge denied, “I enlisted, of course, as was my duty, but I managed to evade every draft.”

Huey began to go into the information that he knew about the Navy and how they sailed in their little rowboat. Scrooge listened as they all ate, the lad spinning yarns about their little voyages. The boys were certainly Della’s children.

A cough to his right alerted Scrooge, his body finely tuned to that sound from his love. Donald gave him a smile before taking in another bite of food. They were all having sea-salt ice cream. Scrooge watched as his love swallowed, a bit of cream escaping from the side of his beak. Several drops were caught at the corner, far enough that Donald would not be able to catch them with his tongue. As much as Scrooge would love to clean the mess himself, he merely pointed it out gently.

Even if they were alone, Donald may not appreciate the gesture. He loved being preened and bathed, but more…  _ intimate  _ actions were not always welcome. Donald cleaning off his beak and smiling at Scrooge, thanking him, on the other hand, was something that would always kindle Scrooge’s heart.

Soon, the family was done with their dinner and the adults excused themselves to their quarters and tasks.

“Eh, Donald?”

“Yeah?” his love answered him.

“Would you be able to help me with something, lad? In my private sitting room.”

Donald made eye contact with Scrooge, blue eyes - Hortense’s eyes - making the connection that only they had. Not even Goldie, with all of her adventurous habits and body that had lured him in like gold itself, could not set his mind on fire like his  _ gràdh m'anama _ could. Donald nodded, appeasing his love. Scrooge could not detect any disinterest or refusal from Donald.

No, they had trained together well. Scrooge remembered teaching Donald how to speak during their little trysts. No matter how breathless, no matter how sunken in pleasure, Donald had a voice that needed to be heard. Scrooge needed to hear it as well.

“Do you need our help, Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey looked up at his uncles with bright, eager eyes. Of course, Della’s most active son would want to be involved with whatever adventure they could possibly have planned.

“No, lad. This is just concerning a certain business deal with a German business owner. Your uncle Donald here-” Scrooge clapped a gentle hand on Donald’s shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly, going on, “-has dealt with enough Germans in his time in the navy that he’d be able to help me deal with this.”

“Oh… Business stuff?” Dewey sounded so disappointed, but Donald patted his head.

“Maybe we’ll go out on an adventure soon, Dewey.”

“Okay,” Dewey agreed, brightening up at the prospect of another journey for all of them to go on. He ran along with his brothers. They had all finished their school work and could now have their leisure time.

“Mr. McDuck, would you like anything brought up to your room while you handle your business? Tea or water, perhaps?”

“Some tea would be good, Mrs. Beakley,” Donald chimed. Mrs. Beakley nodded, Webby following her to help her with dishes that the boys hadn’t carried back to the kitchen.

“It will be done in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s alright, Beakley. We’ll just be discussing our plans for corporate conquest until the tea arrives.”

Donald was already making his way up the stairs by the time that Scrooge had asked Mrs. Beakley about some sweets - perhaps some chocolate scones that the children had made very well the other day. They caught each other’s eye. 

Donald looked at him from the top of the stairs expectantly, wondering what their next step was. Scrooge made his way up the stairs, standing not too far from Donald as they stood next to one another.

“Would starting a fire in the sitting room be acceptable, Donald?”

“... I’ll let you know if I get uncomfortable.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Donald smiled and followed Scrooge.

“We have some time to wait before we can light a fire anyway.”

“Yes, dear nephew.”


	3. Chapter 3

The fireplace was lit within minutes of arriving to the sitting room. Donald could feel the tension build in the study as his uncle waited for the tea to come up. Mrs. Beakley was familiar with the tension that Scrooge could exude after a business venture, and since Donald and the boys were staying in the mansion, Donald had been called on a few times afterward to discuss things.

“Here you two are.”

“Thanks, Mrs. B.” Donald smiled, taking a warm cup of nutmeg tea. It wasn’t his favorite, but he liked the taste. It reminded him of Scrooge in every way. It stayed on his tongue, rich in its scent and in its color. It reminded him of his uncle’s favorite recipe for apple tartes, along with cinnamon and honey.

The door closed, a familiar sound of a lock setting itself as their guard following shortly after. This left the two drakes left alone now in the sitting room. Donald felt a warmth - a _heat_ \- rush through his bones. For a moment, all Donald could think of was his _anam cara_ ’s hands on him, touching him in places that Donald rarely found himself exploring. No, only his love could truly spark the idea of lust in his heart, his body.

“Would you like to finish your tea, love?”

Donald looked over to Scrooge, his heart fluttering. Here, they were safe. They could act like they had no other care in the world aside from each other. He stood up, keeping a hold of his cup and sitting down next to Scrooge. Both of them now on the two-person sofa, Donald finished his tea. Scrooge had yet to reach the half-point of his tea before Donald moved to settle his head in his love’s lap.

“I’m done,” he said softly. Scrooge sighed. The tension that had been building dissipated from the room, save for the warm glow of heat in Donald’s lower belly. Scrooge relaxed more against Donald, a wandering hand caressing Donald’s cheek, the cut of his jaw.

Blue eyes looked down at Donald, who stared back up with similar eyes, the McDuck eyes.

“My lovely,” Scrooge murmured.

“I’m hot,” Donald stated bluntly. Scrooge nodded, setting his tea off to the side. Before Donald could protest to his uncle not drinking his favorite tea, Scrooge had bent his head down, kissing Donald.

Donald closed his eyes, relaxing as Scrooge moved his tongue against Donald’s, their breath the same now. Donald moved his hands to cradle Scrooge’s head at its back, tickling the nape of the other drake’s neck. As they laid like this, Donald could feel his blood begin to rush more quickly through his system, hotter than before. Scrooge pulled away, and Donald was leaning up, going after him.

Scrooge chuckled at his young love, pushing Donald back down into his lap and kissing him everywhere but his mouth. Donald tried to push back, just for a moment, and smiled as Scrooge pushed him down into his lap. They were playing in a way that had been so far from them for years. It never failed to entice Scrooge into playing. Donald loved the challenge, the challenge that Scrooge proposed in how good they could make the other feel.

It was a game all their own.

By the time that Scrooge’s hands had wandered down his love's abdomen, playing with the lower edge of his shirt, Donald had spread open his legs, one leg dangling off of the couch. Scrooge's touch burnt every spot it graced.

“Please, more,” Donald muttered, eyes unable to focus as pleasure coursed through him. Scrooge was teasing him now, hand rubbing between the younger duck's legs and feeling moisture bead up, as it always did.

“Only good little ducks get their reward, _grá mo chroí_ ,” he was told, a gentle chiding that Donald was given often when he wanted a reward too early in their game.

Donald nodded, moaning as softly as he could when Scrooge began to stroke him deliberately. He was given kisses on his face, on his neck, and he was trembling.

“ _Anam cara…_ ”

“Aye?”

“So hot…” Donald knew he was whining, but the heat had come quickly today. With speed sometimes came discomfort, and Donald could only hope that soon…

Scrooge placed kisses lower, Donald scrambling across his lap as the pleasure mounted upon itself, growing restless. No discomfort was coming this time, and Donald was biting his tongue to stay quiet.

“Good lad, just like that,” his love praised him. Donald was trembling as a warm heat surrounded him, teasing and tasting the most intimate parts of his body. He dug his fingers into the couch and into Scrooge’s sleeve, whimpering. He squeezed the fabric tightly, panting heavily.

Was his vision always so unfocused?

“Hot…”

“... Good heat?”

Donald hissed at a touch of cool air before moaning as the wet warmth came again.

“Good.”

Yes, it felt good. It felt… wonderful, actually.

Donald resisted the urge to thrust upward or downward. The wet heat was sucking him harder, and the finger that manage to slip inside of him was gently stroking the sensitive spot inside of him that Scrooge could always find without fail. He whimpered when Scrooge pressed kisses to his hips, finding it harder to be still.

“How hot do you want to be, love?”

Donald spread his legs, trying to get that finger deeper inside. Scrooge only chuckled before pressing another finger inside, Donald exhaling harshly and panting.

“Speak, Donald. Do you want more?”

“Inside! Please!” Both drakes made a choking sound. It was rare that they ever reached this point, enough that they savored each instance in which Scrooge would pull out his fingers and leave Donald hopelessly twitching around the feeling of emptiness. Scrooge would grab some slick, a bottle that he kept hidden inside one of the sofa cushions, and prepare himself. Donald would deny needing anything else, loving the burn as-

“So much tighter…” Scrooge whispered to Donald, kissing his neck and mouth as he pressed into the heat he hadn’t gotten to enjoy in so long, “It feels like the first time, every time.”

“So good…” Donald knew that he loved this feeling, the feeling of his uncle holding him down by the wrists. Entering always took so long and only because Scrooge loved to drag out the desperation that Donald felt. Donald couldn’t think of anything else except that Scrooge was pushing into him, only halfway through and Donald feeling so full already.

“My good boy, my good boy…” Scrooge growled his little praises out, watching Donald flush under his feathers. By the time he sat as deeply inside of his nephew as he could be, Scrooge had regained enough composure to look down at the spot where they joined, twitching at the hole that was fluttering around the base of his cock.

“Eager, aren’t you?”

Donald’s eyes were glazed over; he was sinking into that beautiful sleep-alertness that Scrooge had first noticed in him during their moments of play together, years ago. Donald nodded, moaning in response.

“You ready?”

“Please…”

Scrooge pulled out slowly, hands pressing down Donald’s shoulder and hip. The older drake hissed as velvet-smooth muscles held onto him, making sure he wouldn’t leave that searing entrance.

“Such a good boy. You don’t always…” Scrooge swallowed, his mouth dry, “Don’t always want this, but… When you do, you want all of it.”

Donald turned his face to hide his beak in the cushions as Scrooge pressed forward. The tip pressed that sensitive spot inside of him. It already threatened him to tip over the edge, but Donald knew his lessons. He couldn’t cum just yet.

Scrooge was giving him praises, teasings, and sharp thrusts, things that Donald couldn’t ignore. If he could speak freely, he would have said “Yes.” He would have said how much he enjoyed Scrooge inside of him, fucking into him like it could be their last chance, because it could. He’d tell Scrooge that the older drake was so patient with him, and he was so ready to meet Donald’s needs and fears in a way that Donald would enjoy it all. He loved how big Scrooge felt inside of him and how the older duck would bite marks all over Donald’s chest, upper arms, abdomen. Anywhere that Scrooge marked would be hidden by feathers, so Donald held his status as Scrooge’s lover as a secret prize, someone that could be ogled after but would never belong to anyone else, just like Scrooge was the only person in his life that could make him feel like that. This was bliss.

Donald stayed in this underwater paradise, his mind sunken to the bottom, as Scrooge did whatever he please, whatever Donald had always told him was possible. Donald occasionally came to the surface, whimpering for more or flinching when something was to hard. Scrooge received all of it, acting accordingly.

“So damn good, dear nephew, _anam cara_ , grá mo chroí.” Scrooge was soon grunting only. He was bending Donald almost cleanly in half, biting as his legs, just enough to leave a mark but neither blood nor bruise. The hand on Donald’s shoulder made it to Donald’s neck, and Scrooge loved watching Donald begin to gasp. It was only just, but Donald would still, so trustingly, breathe as easily as he could. Scrooge would tease the scar underneath the feathers, imagining how his little duckling had been when he had had his voice box tampered with so many years ago.

His boy was strong and heart so big. Scrooge felt himself starting to reach a crescendo, moving so quickly that he could surely break a dam with this much force. Donald whimpered again. Scrooge looked down to see that his love was just ready to burst as well.

“Hah… How about together, love?”

Donald nodded, his neck almost floppy. His eyes were still so unfocused. They eventually landed, focused on Scrooge. That pleasure, that dream-like state; it was all Scrooge’s, all his and Donald’s. No-one else had ever seen Donald like this, except for-

Donald let out a string of whimpers, arching so that his neck was firmly pressed into Scrooge’s grasp. That alone sent Scrooge over the edge, rutting against his nephew as spend spilt between them and into the tightness that Scrooge would never stray from.

They stayed like that until Donald stopped twitching, drool escaping the younger duck’s beak at the corner. Scrooge moaned as he pulled out. The cool air hit him, making him hiss. He looked down again.

“How rude,” he whispered, catching the spilling seed that was daring to spill onto the cushions on the ends of his fingers. Scrooge looked up to Donald who was vacantly staring at the ceiling. He opted for a different approach.

“Scrooge!” Donald was breathless. He jerked when wet fingers pushed the cooling fluid back inside. He gently caressed, fed the heat that was leaving his belly. He felt warm again.

“Finished, darling?”

Donald shook his head, spreading his legs and lifting his hips up slightly. Scrooge had done this before, and both of them enjoyed the challenge of trying to tease Donald to arousal again, until there was true discomfort.

“Please, more.”

“I’m glad you never lost your manners,” Scrooge praised, lowering himself to the carpet and face level with the abused, pink entrance in front of him, “especially at a meal.”

Donald felt his face flush red before he felt the same wet heat that had gotten him hard earlier. It was pressing into his body, tasting and licking as it went. Scrooge hummed, Donald shivering with delight as his hole was cleaned out.

Scrooge suckled gently, enough that Donald could feel it and the seed that he had marked his love with was coming back out slowly. It came out, after the most wonderful eternity of a few moments. It landed on Scrooge’s tongue, a taste of salt, himself, and Donald that he greedily gulped down.

Only a few moments were needed to preen those displaced feathers.

A feeling of peace settled on the both of them. When Scrooge found his nephew sufficiently cleaned out and preened, he moved to kiss him sweetly. Donald licked at the inside of his uncle’s mouth, wanting to taste the mixture of the two of them.

Donald then moved to clean his uncle, licking away the slick, sweat, and spend that had stayed on his love’s cock. He felt Scrooge’s fingers in his head-feathers, soothing him back to their reality.

“You did wonderfully, my darling,” Scrooge cooed. Donald, done with his task, smiled up at his love.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Scrooge assured him. Oh, the love of his life, the friend of his soul, always cared for him, even when Donald was surely undergoing the harder tasks to endure. With only his sailor uniform on and his state still somewhat proof of their… activities, Donald was hardly composed enough to get to his room through the hallway.

“Let's go on through the tunnels, then,” Scrooge offered. Donald nodded sleepily, letting Scrooge help him up. In this certain sitting room, there was a locked door. From here, they could get to Donald's bedroom with ease.

Donald walked gingerly, as though not to cause any pain, but he made no noise of complaint. Scrooge kept an eye on him love, making a mental note to get some water and some pain medication, in case his nephew would need the latter.

“... It still feels like her sometimes,” Donald said as he laid down on his bed.

Scrooge froze. He looked up from Donald, who was trying to get settled upon his bed. This was the room that Donald and Della had shared since they had come to the castle. Even as adults, the twin ducks shared the room. It had been Donald who called for Scrooge, urging him to hurry before the eggs were laid. It had been Della to reassure the two drakes that the midwife and doctor that Scrooge had hired, present in the room right quickly, could handle it.

“It's not like I'm having pups, you know,” she had said in her usual invincible tone, but Scrooge knew better then, and he knew better now.

Scrooge ran the back of his knuckles over Donald's cheek. Blue eyes, just like his sister's eyes, stared back at him, trying to discern the Scotsman's thought. Younger finger tangled themselves with Scrooge's own, leaving the elder drake speechless.

There was no accusation in those eyes, in those fingers. Della was gone, and she was loved. Scrooge smiled sadly, kissing Donald gently.

It was a chaste kiss, something that Scrooge always needed and something that Donald adored.

“Good night, _anam cara_ …”

Donald smiled at him, closing his eyes and immediately falling asleep.

The dusk had already settled. Donald's clock read two hours since dinner. Scrooge checked again when he took the secret tunnel to the sitting room.

“Well, another start tomorrow.” He missed an his business venture with an Austrian company tomorrow. It was for him and his family, after all, so they wouldn't suffer as Scrooge's parents and siblings had.

His loved ones would be cared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a series. So far, this is one of 48 parts.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
